


Never Get To Heaven

by amberwoods



Category: The 100 (TV), The 100 Series - Kass Morgan
Genre: Angst, Coma, Drunk Driver, F/M, Fluff, Modern AU, death mention, hospital au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-08
Updated: 2016-02-08
Packaged: 2018-05-19 03:09:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5951602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amberwoods/pseuds/amberwoods
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nurse Clarke Griffin has been taking care of coma patient Bellamy Blake for four months now. Although they can't talk, they're slowly becoming strangely fond of each other. So when something happens at the hospital and Clarke is in a lot of pain, Bellamy knows that he has to wake up now, no matter what it takes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Never Get To Heaven

“And how are you doing today, mister Blake? Heart rate seems fine… How’s your blood pressure…? Why, would you look at that, you’re as healthy as ever!” The young woman sighs and crosses her arms while looking down at the sleeping young man in the hospital bed. “So don’t you think it’s about time for you to wake up?”

No reaction, of course. Nothing since the day they brought him in. Hit by a car, the poor fellow. Drunk driver, she found out later. That was four months ago. He’s been sleeping ever since.

They’ve considered getting him off life support, of course. That matter always becomes more relevant when time starts to pass. After two months, he was at a very low point for a week or two. He stopped breathing completely, his heart rate slowed down… The hospital had already informed his parents. They were still in the middle of getting him transported to a hospital in the USA, where they lived themselves.

The reason he is still here is purely accidental, really. At some point, the young woman that was now casually upset with him for not waking up had stumbled upon him just before her shift ended. It wasn’t exactly unlike her to stay longer than her shift required, so no one was really surprised when she stayed with him for an afternoon. She read up on who he was and his condition, looked at him, checked his vitals a few times. He was unstable that day.

She’d been taught that it helped to talk to coma patients. Knowing that his parents were a continent away and hadn’t been able to visit, she realised that probably little people had talked to him those past two months. So, of course, she started talking to him. She sat there for three hours and didn’t shut up for a second. She hardly remembers what she told him, now. It was something about her day at work, that’s for sure. Some patients. Some High School and college stories. That time her best friend’s cat peed all over her couch. And after those three hours, Bellamy Blake had stabilised a little.

Needless to say, her superiors were very happy with her. Nevertheless, they weren’t sure they liked it that after that she would be in the hospital all the time, staying with him and talking to him after her and between her shifts. To spare her own health and avoid an angry union, they then worked out a schedule with her in which she would basically become his personal nurse. She would have not too many shifts beside her special ones, although they could still call on her when they really needed people. So it went and, surely, Bellamy Blake’s condition kept improving.

But he still didn’t wake up.

She found herself getting curious over the weeks. So, she googled him. Yes, she actually googled him. She found his Facebook account, a kind of impressive academic paper on Hadrian and his name on a list of charity workers. Yet she still doesn’t really know him, of course. She is waiting for him to wake up and tell her.

With another sigh, Clarke sits down on the chair next to his bed. “You’re really missing out on someone, you know,” she says. Her eyes drift over his familiar features. When she googled him, she’d come across some pictures of him smiling on his Facebook page. It had disorientated her a little. The only way she knew him was like this: completely stoic. The smile looked really good on him. “I had lasagne for dinner last night,” she continues, “ _Lasagne_. And I don’t want to brag, but my lasagne is pretty superb.” Clarke smiles lightly. “When you wake up, I’ll make you some. Do you like Italian food?”

It’s slowly becoming frustrating that he can’t answer her questions. Over the months, she’s started to tell him less about herself and ask him more questions, she’s noticed. She’s just becoming more and more curious about him. She’s scrutinized every part of his Facebook page and he just seems so _nice_.

Then again, maybe he doesn’t like her at all. Maybe she’s annoying him thoroughly with her constant talk and questions.

Maybe he can’t hear her at all.

“There was a documentary about the Roman Empire on BBC,” she interrupts her own train of thought, “A re-run, I’m sure. You’ve probably seen it a million times already.”

Clarke summarizes the contents of the documentary in detail, picking out her favourite parts and talking to him about them for about half an hour. She gets off track at some point and starts talking to him about her friend Raven who’d shown up with a story about someone almost running her over.

“The traffic here is so horrible. It’s gonna be the death of her someday.” She catches her breath and looks down at Bellamy. “I’m sorry. That was insensitive. You… know that of course.”

She is quiet for a moment, just looking at him again. His freckles, his doe-like eyelashes. “You’re not going to die, though. You’re not.”

Suddenly, the door flies open and Clarke almost falls off her chair from shock. When she looks up, she finds her friend Monty in the door opening. There’s blood on his uniform and he’s out of breath. “Clarke,” he breathes, “We need you. There’s been a… huge traffic accident. Some kind of gas explosion. It’s absolute chaos downstairs.”

Clarke jumps up immediately and walks over to Monty. “Let’s go,” she says. She forgets to close the door behind her.

After they’ve left, the room is completely quiet again, except for the monotone beeps of Bellamy’s heart monitoring. Sunlight flows in through the large windows. It’s a beautiful day.

Bellamy is frustrated. He can hear her, sure enough. And he doesn’t dislike her. On the contrary. He can’t really put into words how much he appreciates the time she spends with him, talking about everything and nothing, asking him questions he can’t answer. It’s horribly frustrating, but it makes him feel like he isn’t completely gone yet. It gives him a sense of time passing and the life outside of his head. Besides, Clarke is great. She’s funny and clearheaded and smart. He just wishes he knew what she looks like.

She’s sweet, Clarke. Kind. Gentle. She cares for him with very soft hands and she always talks about her friends with a lot of warmth. It’s insane, but on his clearest moment, he can picture her sitting next to him. She’s told him a little about what she looks like. She’s blond, she said, and has blue eyes. He’s sure she’s beautiful.

It’s insane, probably, but he’s pretty sure he’s starting to fall in love with her.

He’s a little regretful that she had to go, although he understands that they needed her help. He wonders where the traffic accident took place. Right in the middle of town? It must be very intense, judging from what the other nurse said. A lot of lives have probably been lost today.

Bellamy hopes a lot more can be saved and waits for Clarke’s return.

By the time she finally does, it’s one in the morning. To be honest, she isn’t sure why she goes back to Bellamy’s room after her superior told her to get some rest. She should be going home, to a warm shower and a warmer bed. But she still finds herself pushing the wrong button in the elevator and walking straight to room 243.

Bellamy’s room is dark. She doesn’t bother to switch on the lights. No one’s closed the curtains, so there’s some light coming in through the window and that’s enough for her. He won’t notice anything anyway.

She drops herself onto the chair beside his bed with a sigh and tears in her eyes. She doesn’t know whether they’re from exhaustion or genuine emotion. Probably both. She’s seen some horrible things today.

“Are you awake?” Her voice cracks a little.

(He is awake, and immediately worried.)

“It doesn’t really matter, I suppose…” she whispers, “You don’t have to listen. I’m not even sure I’m going to talk.”

She’s quiet for a moment. Her body is sore and her head hurts like hell. Flashes of what’s happened today shoot through her head. She’d known these days would be part of the job, of course. It just doesn’t get any easier.

“There was an accident,” she says with a shaking voice. Tears roll down her cheeks quietly. “It was pretty bad. I…” Her throat burns. “I tried.”

Clarke slowly lowers her head and lets her forehead rest on Bellamy’s mattress. “So many people died, Bellamy,” she whispers, “I couldn’t save them.”

She feels so tiny. So broken. A sob wells up in her throat and sound through the empty room.

Bellamy’s head is spinning. Clarke’s pain resonates with him. The wish to comfort her is overwhelming. He already suspected she’s crying, but when her first sob escapes her a rush of something he can’t quite put his finger on sweeps through him. All he knows is that he has to wake up.

He _has_ to wake up.

It’s the start of a struggle. He doesn’t know where to focus, doesn’t know what to do. All he wants is to just open his eyes, sit up straight and hold her. Nothing happens.

His frustration heightens and he wishes he could _hit_ something. He wishes he could hit _himself_.

 _He has to wake up_.

Suddenly, he remembers what the doctor told him about waking up. He has to start slowly. He has to start with just his eyes.

With Clarke crying quietly beside him, Bellamy focuses all of his willpower on his eyelids.

 _Open_.

By the time Bellamy succeeds in opening his eyes, Clarke has quieted down completely. Ironically, the first time Bellamy sees Clarke, she is asleep.

He looks at her from the corner of his eyes. Somehow, this is more intensive and exhausting than he could ever have imagined. All he sees is a lot of blond hair. She’s rested her face on her hands, turned away from him. Still, a sense of relief rushes through him when he finally lays eyes on the girl that’s been taking care of him for so long. Immediately, he knows it was worth it.

Then he closes his eyes again.

Clarke wakes up early in the morning, at eight. For a moment, she’s disoriented. Then she realises where she is and, immediately after, what has happened the day before. Her head still hurts when she lifts it off the bed with a moan. “Sorry,” she mumbles while squinting her eyes shut again for a moment, “I didn’t mean to fall asleep here.”

“It’s okay.”

Clarke freezes. First, a strange sense of fear rushes through her. Quickly, that fear is replaced with an anticipation so high that she feels like she could explode. Her headache is instantly forgotten.

She turns towards him with the speed of lightening and widened eyes. And for the first time, Clarke finds Bellamy Blake looking back at her.

He’s smiling. It’s a small smile, but it’s still there. His eyes are prettier in real life than they were on the photos. They’re looking at her warmly. Unwantedly, fresh tears blur Clarke’s sight.

“You woke up,” she says with a small voice.

Bellamy’s smile widens slightly. “Yeah,” he says, “I thought it was about time.”

She knows she has to call for his doctor, but she can’t bring herself to look away from him. Instead, she smiles at him through her tears and takes his hand. “Yeah,” she says while she squeezes it lightly, “It really was.”

When Bellamy’s hand squeezes back, she’s hit with so much happiness that for a moment she can’t breathe.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed!


End file.
